Long Listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards
1949 A. D.
The Revolution was going through its most
critical hours during the night I was injured.
The enemy was marching on, we needed
the army and I didn’t have to die. I therefore
accepted to have them replace my head,
resembling a sieve because of the bullet holes,
with one screwed on my shoulders by a skinny
doctor who was unceasingly repeating:
“Beautiful, everything is going smoothly”
The next morning, I was sent back to the front line.
Of course, as it is known, treason and mistakes
crushed the Revolution. I was twenty-seven
years old.
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